Page 40 of Tormenting Me

We finish up, and my Ma looks at us with a proud smile. “Ya make a great team,” she says, her eyes filled with affection.

I glance at Layne, our eyes meeting in silent agreement.

It tradition in my family that we have Chinese food the night before Thanksgiving. A little tradition we started when I was a wee boy, and I went through a phase where I only ate chow mein and egg rolls. My parent’s being the amazing people they are, rolled with it and we’ve kept the tradition going for over seventeen years. Layne stares at the containers of food on the table, and laughs.

“What’s so funny, Ma Petite Mort?“ I ask, reaching for the bag of egg rolls.

“I would’ve never thought of you as a picky eater. That’s all.” Her smile radiates warmth and love, as my Ma puts a plate piled with food in front of her.

“That boy,” My Da starts in, pointing his finger at me. “Lived off of chow mein and egg rolls for probably six months, maybe?”

“That’s all you ate?” Layne’s expression shifts from surprise to complete bewilderment as she stares at me.

“I was seven, Layne. Kids do weird shit.” As I take a bite of the egg roll, I pause, my face contorting into a frown when I realize it’s a spring roll.

“Damn, it’s a spring roll,” I say, disappointment evident in my voice. Ronan waits at my feet and I casually slide the spring roll under the table to him. Layne chuckles and reaches for another container, this time filled with chow mein.

“Well, at least we got the chow mein right,” she says, handing me a forkful. I smile and take a bite, savoring the familiar flavors that bring back memories of my childhood.

Layne looks at me with a mixture of curiosity and amusement. “Do you still have any weird food habits, you know, that I should know about?” she asks playfully.

I laugh and shake my head. “Not anymore. Thankfully, I have outgrown it. I enjoy many things now.“ I lick my lips and she catches on that I am talking about her. An awkward laugh escapes from Layne’s lips.

“Stop making your wife uncomfortable at the table, Wessy.” My Da pipes in, reaching over a smacking me upside the head. I bring my hand up and cradle my head and laugh.

“Wessy,” Layne mouths.

“Don’t get any ideas,” I mouth back, but the look in her eyes already lets me know the nickname will come home with us.

We spend the rest of the evening playing card games, laughing about my childhood, and talking about Siobhan. We talk about how much we miss her and fill the atmosphere with laughter and bittersweet nostalgia. Layne and I find ourselves lost in a game of cards, challenging each other with playful banter and competitive spirit.

The sound of shuffling cards and our laughter echoes off the walls. The hours seem to fly by as we lose track of time, engrossed in each other’s company. Empty food containers sit strewn about the table, and when my parents say goodnight, Layne offers for us to clean up. My Ma gives us each a kiss on the cheek before heading back. Da lets Ronan out and goes out back to smoke his nightly cigarette.

Layne gives me a nod for me to follow my Da. “I’ll clean up, you go smoke.”

We both get up and before I head out back, I pull her into my arms. I place a tender kiss on her lips before letting her go. I back away toward the sliding door, never breaking eye contact with her. Layne smiles, biting her lip as she turns to the table to clear it. I step out into the chilly night air, making my way over to my Da.

“Ya found a good one, Wessy. Never let her go.” He chuckles, holding out his lighter to the cigarette I already have between my lips.

I inhale deeply, letting the smoke come out of my nose. “I don’t plan on it.”

We finish up smoking in silence, making our way back into the house. Layne’s no longer in the kitchen. My Da pats me on the shoulder as he makes his way down to his and my Ma’s room. I open the door to our room. The light is on in the bathroom, but the door is closed. I hear the rustling of a bag, so I gently knock on the door.

“Ma Petite Mort,“ I say, turning the doorknob. The door creaks open, and Layne is sitting on the toilet.

“You didn’t have to buy the test,” she says, her voice quivering and filled with a hint of disappointment. My gaze falls downward, and I notice that her underwear is soaked in blood.

I make my way over to her and crouch down, lifting her leg and taking the jeans and underwear off. Tears silently fall down her face as I clean her up. I try my best to comfort Layne as I clean her up, my heart aching at the sight of her tears. I softly whisper reassuring words.

“It’s okay, baby.” My lips brushing against her forehead.

“Out of everyone, why me?” she question, her eyebrows furrowing. “Don’t you know I’m broken, Wes?”

Layne’s walls are crumbling, and as much as I’ve wanted her to let me in, this is not how I wanted it to happen. My hands cup her face. “Then I’m going to spend the rest of my life putting you back together.”

Once I finish cleaning her, I help Layne stand up and guide her to the shower. I turn on the warm water, gently helping her step inside. I grab a towel and place it within reach, making sure she feels safe and supported.

As the water cascades over her, I watch her expression soften, her tears blending with the shower droplets. I stay by her side, offering a silent presence of love and devotion. Am I sad too? Sure. But all that matters right now is her feelings. The weight of the situation hangs heavy in the air, but I am determined to be her pillar of strength.

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